The breeze here.

"Here’s what our parents never taught us:
You will stay up on your rooftop until sunlight

 peels away the husk of the moon,

chain smoking cigarettes and reading Baudelaire, 

and you will learn that you only ever want to fall in love 

with someone who will stay up

 to watch the sun rise with you.

You will fall in love with train rides, 

and sooner or later you will realize

 that nowhere seems like home anymore.
A woman will kiss you 

and you’ll think her lips are two petals
rubbing against your mouth.
You will not tell anyone

 that you liked it.
It’s okay.

It is beautiful to love humans in a world 

where love is a metaphor for lust.

You can leave if you want, 

with only your skin as a carry-on.
All you need is a twenty in your pocket and a bus ticket.
All you need is someone on the other end of the map, 

thinking about the supple curves of your body,

 to guide you to a home

 that stretches out

 for miles and miles on end.

You will lie to everyone you love.
They will love you anyways.

One day you’ll wake up and realize 

that you are too big

 for your own skin.
Molt.
Don’t be afraid.

Your body is a house 

where the shutters blow in and out
against the windowpane.
You are a hurricane-prone area.
The glass will break through often.
But it’s okay. I promise.

Remember,a stranger once told you

 that the breeze here is something worth 

writing poems about."

— “Here’s What Our Parents Never Taught Us,” Shinji Moon